


Selected

by darthmaulik



Category: The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: F/M, Let's be honest, my attempt at making this series not suck as much as it does, there is no team aspen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmaulik/pseuds/darthmaulik
Summary: America Singer has a future in mind, but this is all tossed to the wind when she enters and is chosen for the Selection - a voyeuristic method of choosing the new princess of the land. The 35 young women will be stalked by cameras and microphones as entertainment for the restless population of a young nation. But not all is as well in the castle as has always been portrayed...





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooooo so I'm a longtime anti-fan of this series. Here we have my attempt at rewriting it so it's a wee bit better ???? Please leave feedback, suggestions, anything!

If I had to flick through the pages of my life and pinpoint the exact day that everything changed, it would have been the day the letter arrived.

May had brought in the post to Mom, who flicked through the usual brown envelopes of bills, tongue pressed against her teeth. I was leaning against the countertop, sculling ginger tea with honey to soothe my aching throat – the price of not warming up properly that morning.

Mom’s exclamation drew my attention, and I stared at the thick, creamy envelope in her hands. She slowly turned it over and I saw the royal stamp above the address – _The Singer Family, Caste Five, 362 Fielding Road, Carolina_.

Mom slit open the envelope and pulled out the paper, her gaze flicking over the lines before coming up to rest on me. I held my warm mug to my lips, trepidation freezing me where I stood.

“America,” Mom said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “America, it’s the Selection.”

That was it, as far as she was concerned. All of our problems were solved, every day we had gone to bed still hungry, every evening we had spent huddled together because we couldn’t afford the electricity bill was over.

There were many hitches in her brilliant plan. First of all, I had not actually _been_ Selected. Secondly, and more importantly, I did not want it. I did not want to be royalty. I did not want to be a One.

I hid in my room with my violin, running mindlessly through my scales, trying desperately to think of an argument that would sway her. I made lists – _I’m happy where I am, who’ll take care of May and Gerad, who’s going to do the cooking when you’re too busy, I’m brilliant at music and I’ll be able to make a good enough living as a Five once I get my full licence, it’s not even safe in the palace_ – but none of them would hold sway with her. There was more, but it felt too close to my heart to say. I’d rather make my own way in this world, scrounging for every penny, if I can live by my own work. I’ll practice til my fingers bleed and my voice cracks, but I will work for myself.

I couldn’t avoid her for long though. As the evening grew darker I put down my violin, and went downstairs and into the lion’s den that was the kitchen.

I was pinned with a glare, which I did my best to ignore as we silently moved around each other in the kitchen. I put pasta on the stove to boil as Mom sliced cold roast chicken from dinner two nights ago. I set the table for the five of us as she sliced apples for dessert. If our eyes met she would fix me with that glare again as if she could through sheer willpower force me to want the same things she did.

I wasn’t unused to this treatment, and managed to breeze through it. It was the same thing that happened when I was reluctant to perform at someone’s house because I didn’t like the way the family treated the lower castes, or when I wanted to pay a Six more for helping us transporting our instruments. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. But this was one area where I refused to be swayed.

Her annoyance at my stubbornness was tangible, but she was the one who had given it to me. Besides, not all of her bad mood could be pinned on me – the colder months were approaching, and who knew how many families would want our performances or Dad’s paintings?

As I strained the pasta, she burst out, “Would it kill you to fill out the form? Think about what a wonderful opportunity it would be for you. For all of us.”

I sighed. “Mom, you know the rebels attack the palace.” A country as young as ours was still torn with conflict. Underground colonies protested against everything – the caste system, the division of the provinces, the monarchy itself. Often these protests came in the form of attacks on the palace. We’d even seen the damage they could cause in Carolina – from the graffiti that was scrawled across the walls of abandoned houses, angry words against the system that kept the poor with their noses rubbed in the dust, to a group had burned down a magistrate’s house, killing the entire family. One time the rebels had even broken into a prison. I couldn’t help thinking they were right that time – they’d freed a man with a young family and an elderly woman who had been imprisoned for stealing for her grandchildren.

But there was more than the danger that would come with moving into the palace for the Selection. I had my own reasons for staying exactly where I was, and the thought of some of them brought a smile to my lips.

Mom wasn’t done yet. “These last years have been so hard on your father. If you had any compassion at _all_ –”

_Dad_. I did want to help Dad, especially as his fingers were becoming stiff with age and it was becoming harder for him to paint the fine details and features he was known for. I wanted to help May and Gerard too, I wanted to help Mom. She was right in what she said; our money was always eked out carefully, spread over the most amount of time to cover for those large, irregular gaps in our employment. It wasn’t that we would starve, we just lived constantly on the edge of uncertainty.

Our caste was just three away from the bottom. Us Fives were craftsmen, artists, performers. Our money depended on what the higher castes wanted – if they didn’t want our pottery, our furniture, our music, then we struggled. When we were wanted – when Mom and I were booked back to back for days, performing for Christmas and New Year’s, life became that smidgen easier for the next few months.

Dad had an old history book that told me that all the big holidays used to be crammed into the winter months. There was a festival called Halloween, one called Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, all coming one after the other. Christmas was the same, but the official New Year’s now aligned with the Chinese one after Illea had to make the peace treaty with China, dragging it into January or February. That didn’t stop the bookings for the 31st of December or the 1st of January though. Our Grateful Feasts were in spring and late summer, times to rejoice in the fact we were all still here.

I didn’t know what Halloween was – it had never resurfaced after the wars.

At least a few times a year the whole family would be fully employed. Dad’s portraits and May’s landscapes would be bought by patrons for gifts. Mom and I would perform at the parties and gatherings, me singing or on the violin, her on the piano or cello, not turning down any job if we could manage it. When I was younger, I would freeze in front of an audience, terrified by the number of people, their opulent houses, their casual, condescending looks. But now I managed fine – we were just background music, meant to help the ambience. Not the focus of anyone’s attention. I couldn’t even perform alone for another six months, when I could apply for my full licence – then we could take more jobs between us, and hopefully bring in some more money.

Gerard hadn’t found his talent yet, no place in particular where he stood out. But he was only seven – he had a few years before he’d have to start earning too.

But the second Grateful Feast was over. We had no guarantee of employment til Christmas, and the long months until then stretched out in front of us. Five mouths, four workers. The Selection almost seemed like a rope, something I could maybe grab onto. Maybe that letter could lift me out of the darkness, and I could pull my family along with me.

I glanced sidelong at my mother. She wasn’t quite thin, but something twisted in my heart. I knew she always tried to give Gerard some of her food. Her hair was once red like mine, but was now greying. Smile lines dimpled her cheeks but a soft crease between her brows never smoothened, and she moved as if she had a weight resting on her shoulders.

I knew she had a lot to carry, and I knew she was manipulating me because she worried about our family. We clashed enough without extra strain, but now we faced weeks without any guarantee of money her irritability increased tenfold. I knew she thought I was being unreasonable, not even wanting to fill in the form.

But there were things in the world that I held dear. That pieces of paper could turn into a brick wall that stood between me and those I love. It could strip me of my self-respect, to be a girl in a group, analysed and picked through for my faults in front of everyone. Maybe I was being selfish. I would give my life for my family, but I could only give it on my own terms. And I couldn’t sacrifice my own dreams. I gave as much as I could now.

I was the oldest left now Kenna was married and Kota had left us. We scheduled my homeschooling around my practices and my rehearsals, which occupied almost all of my day – I was trying to master the piano as well as the violin and singing, and I was trying to pick up guitar on the side. Then I cooked almost every night, and taught May and Gerard their lessons. But now the letter was here, that all counted for nothing.

I should have stolen away that stupid notice before Dad, May, and Gerard came in. But Mum whipped it out halfway through dinner, and read from it.

“‘To the Singer family,’” she began, loud and clear. I tried to swipe it away from her but she was too quick. They would find out sooner or later anyway, but if she did it like this, they’d all be on her side.

“Mom, please!”

“I want to hear!” May squealed. No surprise there – my little sister was almost identical to me, if three years younger, but she was outgoing and hopeful unlike me – and currently very boy crazy. I was sure the whole thing would seem incredibly romantic to her.

I felt my face go red and I pressed my palms against my cheeks. Dad listened intently, May grinned at mum in joy, and Gerard, bless him, just kept eating. Mom cleared her throat and went on.

“‘The recent census has confirmed that an unmarried woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home.’”

That would be me. May clutched my arm in excitement.

“‘Our beloved prince, Maxon Schreave is coming of age this month. As he moves into this new part of his life, he hopes to do it with a partner – to marry a true Daughter of Illea. If the young woman in your household is interested in becoming the bride of Prince Maxon, she is welcome and encouraged to fill out the form enclosed, and return it to the local Province Services Office. As in previous Selections, one woman from each province will be drawn to meet the prince. Participants will be housed in the Illea Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. Their families will be _generously compensated!_ ’” Mom paused to look at each of us. “‘…for their service to the royal family.’”

I rolled my eyes as she went on. This was the way they did it with princes. Princesses were always sold off into diplomatic marriages, and princes married women of the people to keep up the morale of our sometimes volatile nation. I think the Selection always means to draw us together – to remind us that we all share the same blood. And I guess it did too. Everyone I knew liked Queen Amberly, and she’d been picked out of the Selection for King Clarkson’s bride.

But I couldn’t do it. The idea of being entered into a televised contest that the whole country would be watching, baited breath, to see who this stuck-up little wimp with a crown on his head, would pick out of a line of gorgeous and shallow girls to be the silent, pretty face beside him on the Capital Report… The thought of it made me want to scream. Could anything be more humiliating? More degrading? I may as well be cattle for inspection.

Would they even let me do the things I loved? Would I still be able to play my instruments, see my siblings? Watch Dad work in his studio?

“He would love America, of course,” said Mom, folding the letter. “She’s so lovely and so talented.”

I rolled my eyes, but May shook my arm, grinning up at me. “You _are_ lovely, America, cuz I’m pretty and we look the same!” Her smile was so infectious, I couldn’t help but return it.

“You’ve got the brightest smile though, and the happiest eyes.” I kissed her forehead. May was gorgeous, but she radiated this energy, this enthusiasm, that made you want to be wherever she was. Even after Mom and I fought she could always make us both smile.

“America.” Dad’s quiet voice broke through the rest of us. We all turned to look at him, watched him poke a piece of chicken around his plate with his fork. He finally popped it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said with quiet deliberateness, “America, you’re going to have to enter this.”

I stared at him.

“If you read the wording again of the letter – correct me if I’m wrong, Magda – but it said that you were _encouraged_ to enter.”

Mom confirmed this with a nod.

“In my experience,” said Dad, setting down his fork, “when something is recommended by the Illerian government, it means that the taxman will not be so hard come winter time.”

I couldn’t even blink.

“And if you weren’t to enter…” his brow furrowed. “America, understand that I hate to pressure you like this. I hate it. But America, my sister didn’t enter the last Selection, and our family was without employment for three months.”

I felt sick, but I took a long, slow breath. “I guess I don’t have much choice then.”

“It’s for the better anyway,” said Mom bracingly. “My daughters are too good to marry a Five. Kenna got a Four, and now America has a chance to grab a One!”

“His name is James,” I snapped. “He’s not a _number_.”

“The point still stands,” she fired back. “Your father just said. You have no choice but to enter.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll even get chosen! Even if I get chosen out of the _thousands_ of the girls, who knows how long I’ll last in the palace! I wouldn’t even want to _be_ there!”

Mom stood up, scraping her chair backwards. “ _America_.” She took a deep breath. “Clear the table.”

I choked back tears as I collected up the plates. They’d all been wiped clean except for mine. I threw a napkin over the remainder of my pasta and chicken and hid it in the fridge before moving to the sink to wash up.

I felt the gentle pressure of Dad’s hand on my shoulder a moment later and I leaned into his touch. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m sorry, kitten.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Dad.”

He was quiet a moment. “I’m sorry that our world is like this. That we’re all divvied up into these layers. I’m sorry I can’t change that, or that you’re being called on like a trained puppy to take part in a competition you don’t want.”

I wrapped my arms around him, ignoring that my hands were dripping wet, and hugged him as tightly as I could. The smell of paint and turpentine on his shirt was as familiar as the smell of Mom’s baking and the sound of piano keys echoing through the house. After a moment I let go, and he went back to his studio, and I stacked the dishes for May to dry.

In bed that night, I lay wide awake, trying to wrap my head around the Selection. More specifically, that I had no choice, if Dad was right, of entering. I had filled in the form before coming up to my room – name, age, height, weight, caste, skills. All simple questions, clearly searching for various attributes. Perhaps this lottery for selection was not as random as they were pretending. Why else would they ask what caste you came from, and how many languages you spoke?

(There, my caste had actually given me some advantages. Mum had insisted I learn Italian, German, and French so I could sing various arias better.)

And what about the Prince himself? How was anyone supposed to just meet a person for a matter of weeks and decide to marry them? All I’d ever seen of Prince Maxon was his blandly smiling face on the Capital Report every week.

I worried over these things until the tiny clock on my windowsill ticked to midnight. As quietly as I could, I slipped down to the kitchen, tipping my leftovers from the fridge into a napkin – haphazard and messy, but better than carrying the plate – and a few slices of bread that were going stale before creeping up to my room again.

My window slid open quietly and I set down my bundle of food on the other side of the glass before wriggling through on my stomach, leaning on my elbows so I wouldn’t rip my pyjamas. Navigating my way down solid old drainpipe was a breeze now, and I scurried across the garden, around the vegetable patch, to the tree house that was barely silhouetted against the night sky. When Kota and I had been younger, he used to tie old, torn sheets to the branches to turn the whole tree into a pirate ship. When the wind had blown hard enough, the whole place would rock and sway, and he would steer our ship through the rough seas.

It was much easier to shin my way up to the treehouse with my longer arms and legs, even with my bundle of pasta – that was starting to soak through the napkin – chicken and bread under one arm. A quick glance around showed all the neighbours’ lights were out. What I could see of the street was deserted. No one else had dared to defy curfew.

I climbed into the wooden shack that was my escape, and immediately my eyes found the dark shape of someone in the corner. A smile spread over my face as that person reached forward, striking a match, and lit the tall candle that was jammed into a knot in the floor. The faint illumination lit his face and mine, but couldn’t be seen past the branches.

The candlelight glinted off the intruder’s teeth as he grinned. “Hey there, gorgeous.”


	2. Treehouse Dreams

“Aspen!” The space was so small I couldn’t stand up, but I shuffled over to him on my knees to hug him. His arms were warm around me, the feeling of his heartbeat through his shirt was warm and comforting. I laughed into his shoulder, squeezing my eyes closed, just feeling his presence. Aspen was who I needed, who I wanted after the stresses of the evening.

Of the evening…

I hadn’t considered how I was going to tell Aspen.

He must have felt my muscles tense or something, because I felt him shift his head to press his temple to mine. “You okay, Mer?”

I wouldn’t tell him yet. We still had a few hours to spend together. I didn’t want to spoil it for both of us.

I pressed a kiss to his neck. “Nothing. I’m just glad to see you.”

He pulled away to study my face anxiously, then leaned in and kissed me, wiping away all my other thoughts. There was no family to worry about, no carefully-filled form sitting on the kitchen bench, nothing. Just the taste of him, the smell of his mother’s homemade soap, his still-damp hair tangled in my fingers.

We broke apart eventually, smiling at each other. I brushed his dark fringe out of his eyes. “I should really give this a trim.”

He swatted at my hand affectionately. “Mom’s been meaning to for a few weeks now. Jemmy’s back’s been giving him trouble again, so she’s been spending every spare moment with him.”

My heart went cold. “How bad has it been?”

Aspen shrugged away the question with a half frown. “Just been hurting a bit he said. It’s not exactly surprising, Mer – they took half the skin off his back when they whipped him.”

I curled my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms. “Two apples.”

“Two apples,” he echoed, bitter. “Two measly apples.” He shook his head, like he was trying to whip away the memories. “Taking on that extra job has helped though.”

“You’ve taken on another job?”

“Sunday afternoons. I help clean up the church after service.”

“It’s your only free day, Aspen. You can’t work yourself to death.”

He raked a hand through his hair, and looked at me miserably. “Mer, what else can I do? I can’t let my family go to bed hungry. There’s only so much Mom can do.”

“There’s only so much you can do.” I brushed the hair out of his eyes again, brows furrowed with worry. “Have you eaten tonight?”

He shifted “I gave most of it to Jemmy. He can only get better if he’s eating properly,” he added defensively.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, my boy,” I said with a grin. I grabbed the parcel of food. “We had a little extra.”

“Mer, you shouldn’t have!” The way his stomach growled contradicted his words, and I watched as he unwrapped the napkin as slowly as he could manage.

I had a few bites of the bread so he felt like it was for us, but I set it down and let him have the rest.

“I love eating pasta with my fingers,” Aspen said, winking at me. Even after all these years it made my heart skip a beat. “Can’t make things too easy for you, can I?”

He laughed, and the sound brought a smile to my lips. I watched, satisfied, as he started now on the chicken. “How’s the concerto coming along?” he asked between bites.

I brightened. “Great! I just have to make sure I know all of it off by heart now. Clients don’t like you to be flicking through sheet music. Gerard managed to fix our metronome, but I wasn’t doing too badly without it.”

“That kid is so good with his hands.”

“You’re telling me. He’s been tinkering around with that microscope Dad found in the dump – he just needs new lenses now, he says, and it’ll be working.”

Aspen’s grin showed all the warm pride that I felt.

“I’m thinking that I may put half my savings towards him.” I twisted my hands in my lap.

“Yeah, of course.” I was relieved to hear the casual acceptance in his voice. He reached out and took my hands, running his thumbs over the violin string-calluses on my fingertips. “I’m saving for us too, you know. If you get him up a caste – he could touch the sky if he was a Four, America, if he could have the equipment they have.”

“I want to see him do it,” I whispered.

“We will.” His green eyes met mine, and his grip on my hands became firmer. “America, we can do it. Together. We can take care of everyone.”

I leaned into his arms, pressing my forehead to his cheek. He kissed my hair. “You and me, Mer. You’re going to be making me fat and happy, too, if you keep cooking like this.”

We both laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners in the best way. For this boy, I thought, I would be happy to drop a caste. Hell, I’d live life as an Eight to spend my days with him. And he was right. We were both smart. We were both good at what we did – him at his job as a lowly clerk in an accountancy firm, me with my voice and my instruments. We could take care of everything. Gerard wouldn’t be like Kota – he would support Mom and Dad. I could take care of May.

The feeling of security warmed me more than any coat, any fire, any blanket. Maybe it was foolish or naïve, but sitting here with Aspen, hearing his quiet breaths, the flickering of the candle, everything we dreamed of seemed so… not easy, perhaps, but achievable if we worked hard. And we were nothing if not hard workers.

“The twins have been working hard, too,” he said, leaning his cheek against my hair. “They’ve got homework on top of some cleaning jobs they got at a Two’s house.”

“They’ll be okay. Celia and Kamber are bright, they can pick up things quickly.”

“I know, I just wish – I wish I could give them time to do the things they want.”

It was my turn to squeeze his hands. “They know how much you love them, Aspen. Never doubt that.”

“Besides,” his voice was lifting and it lifted my heart with it. “They may have gotten a lucky break. For our whole family.”

As fast as it had risen, my heart fell. I hid it as best as I could, asking, somewhat dry-mouthed, “What happened?”

“We got a letter, America.” He nudged me with his cheek so I looked up at him. “From the castle. They’re having another Selection.”

I forced my lips into a smile. “Yeah? Are the twins going to enter the draw?”

“You bet they are! If one of them gets in – they pay your family for every week you’re away.” The excitement in his voice was palpable. “If one of them could get in and just stay in for a couple of weeks –” He let out a long gust of air, smiling at the ceiling. Glanced back down at me. “I bet you tossed your letter straight in the bin, huh?”

Oh no.

“America?” He looked at me in confusion.

“I didn’t – Aspen – it wasn’t my choice.”

“What?” Shock coloured his voice.

I struggled upright. “Aspen, Mom wouldn’t get off my case – she – Dad said –”

“America Singer. Are you entering the Selection?”

“I don’t have a choice!” I cried. “If I had a choice, Aspen, I wouldn’t do it, you know I love you –”

“They’re not exactly pointing a gun to your head while you fill out the form, are they?”

It was like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.

I took a deep breath. “From what Dad said, that’s basically what it’s like. He said that if a girl didn’t enter – her family wasn’t promised employment. They’d spread bad things about the family. And if the girl did enter, they wouldn’t be so cruel with their taxes that year.”

He was completely still. “America. What about us? What about me? What about everything we have here?” Neither of us could raise our voices lest we be heard, but he spoke in an angry whisper. “Don’t you care about this?”

“Aspen, didn’t you hear anything of what I just said? They don’t really give us a choice at all! Not if we want an easy winter!”

“What, so money ranks above what we have?”

This was so unfair it left me breathless with anger. “You just told me yourself, you can’t stand your family being hungry! Neither can I, and if I don’t do this –”

“My family is a lot hungrier than yours.”

“This isn’t a competition. Aspen, I know, I know how hungry your family is, and I’m sorry. But I need to take care of my family too. Do you think I want this? Do you think I’d like to be paraded around in front of cameras like some kind of pet? To be called for and sent away on a whim?”

His jaw was set in that way that meant he was mad. _This isn’t my fault, this isn’t what I want, I want you, it’s always been you…_

“Aspen,” I tried again. “Please. You want Celia and Kamber to enter, don’t you?”

“Celia and Kamber don’t have a boyfriend.”

“ _If_ I get chosen – which I won’t – then any number of days I can spend in that castle will mean more money for my family. I don’t have to like him, I just need to stay long enough for us to put some cash into savings for our rough patches.”

Aspen shook his head, his lips pressed together. “I’m sorry, Mer. I don’t know.”

“Don’t know _what?_ ”

He just shook his head again, as if his words hadn’t plunged a knife into my heart. “I better go. I have an early start tomorrow morning.” With no further farewell, he crawled past me, and out of the treehouse. And he was gone.

I had expected to burst into tears, but I remained dry-eyed, as I blew out the candle, picked up the napkin, hopped down from the tree branch. No tears came as I clambered up the drainpipe again and into my room. Even in bed hours later, I stared at the glow of moonlight on the ceiling and felt the tremble of my future that seemed to be slipping away.

“No,” I said to myself out loud. “You aren’t going to get chosen. Aspen will get over it.” He would understand. He couldn’t not, not with every meal in his house being an uncertainty. It was just the shock that had made him react like this.

That was all.

 

The sound of Mom opening my door woke me up. I groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over her face. “Ten more minutes,” I moaned.

“We need to go to the Services Office to drop off your application.” Her voice was softer than usual. “They want to take your picture.”

I opened my eyes blearily. The clock said half past seven. “So early, Mom?”

“They opened at seven, and apparently the line is already out of the office.”

“Ughhhhh.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on now.”

I was sleepy enough for it to take a few moments to register the endearment. And despite the memory of Aspen’s hurt, it made the corners of my mouth twitch upwards a little.

Fifteen minutes later I was downstairs, dressed and ready to go. I’d chosen one of the looks I wore for performances – a light blue dress, a couple of years behind fashion in its length and its flared, elbow-length sleeves; mascara, and light pink gloss. May cooed over how lovely I looked and I teasingly pinched her cheek before I followed Mom, form in hand, out of the house.

Mom had been right – the line stretched onto the block, and we waited for forty minutes before we reached the front. So many of the girls were wearing finer dresses, more makeup, had had their hair done – Mom joked that they looked like they were going straight to the castle, but her laugh was a little forced.

Celia and Kamber were there with Aspen’s mother; I smiled and chatted but it was hard to look at them.

“I don’t know why some of these girls are wearing so much,” said Mrs Leger. “Look at America – she’s so lovely without strutting around like a peacock.”

“Who would pick me next to Celia or Kamber, though?” I smiled at the twins who blushed and giggled. They looked like their brother – tall, black-haired, green-eyed.

“Please! Every time Aspen does any work for you, he doesn’t stop talking about how lovely and talented the Singers are.”

“What a sweet boy,” Mom said. “He’s going to make a girl very happy one day.” She would have never even thought of me. None of her children were going to marry a Five, let alone marrying _down_ a caste.

Mrs Leger glanced around. “Between us, I think he may have found someone.”

My heart stopped.

“Really? Have you seen her?” I wasn’t sure how attentive Mom actually was being, a Two had distracted her in a long white ruffled dress. Honestly, why didn’t she just add a veil?

“No, he hasn’t introduced me – but he seems so much happier recently!”

I frowned. Recently? We’d been seeing each other for more than two years.

“She must be wonderful, though,” Mrs Leger continued, beaming. “He’s been working very hard these past few months, and he’s been putting money away. I think he must be saving to get married.”

A gasp escaped me, but luckily they attributed to the excitement of the news.

“I love her already. Whoever she is, he’s been smiling so much more now. It’s been hard since we’ve lost Herrick and Aspen’s been killing himself with work. Any girl who makes   
my son happy is already dear to me.”

I could hardly believe it. His family was struggling to make ends meet every day and he was putting away money for us. He had told me he was saving, but I had thought it would have been odd pennies, nothing enough for his mother to notice. But – he was going to ask me to marry me! Really!

We had reached the front of the line at last, and as I handed over my form, all I could think of was Aspen. Aspen, Aspen, my Aspen. If he was saving for us to get married – no wonder he had been upset last night! It was okay though, I could fix it all, I could just go and tell him and explain and –

“Sit on this stool, miss.”

I patted my hair to make sure all the pins were secure, pulled loose a few strands to frame my face, and sat on the stool, angling myself to face the photographer.

I don’t think any girl in all of Illea could have been smiling more than me.


	3. The Lottery

I didn’t get to see Aspen properly the rest of that week. Dad called him in to help him carry a huge portrait to a client’s house, and when we made eye contact he gave a sweet, apologetic smile that made me forgive every word he’d said that had hurt me. It had just been the alarm of it, that smile said. There was still very much an ‘us’.

And if Mrs Leger was right, that ‘us’ could become official even sooner than I had hoped.

Seeing the massive line of girls had set my fears to rest a bit. There were so many entering this competition from my town, let alone my province. There was no way I could get picked, even if it wasn’t a lottery, even if it was some kind of rigged selection. Mom had taken the opposite view; she was surer than ever I would be chosen. I let her believe it – if it made her happy, why should I say anything?

And so it was with a light heart that I settled with my family on the couch in front of our tiny television on Friday evening to watch the Capital Report, Gerard squeezed onto my lap, May leaning on my shoulder. Mom was so excited she had popped a handful of popcorn kernels, and May had melted a little butter to drizzle over the top. We passed the bowl back and forth, munching. We were all eager to see the results for different reasons – I was hoping Celia or Kamber were chosen, to take some stress off Aspen, Mom and May wanted to see my name drawn, Dad and Gerad both wanted it to be over.

If Celia or Kamber were chosen… Mom would be disappointed for us but she would be happy for them. May and Dad would be happy, we were close to the Legers after all. And Aspen would come to the door to ask for my hand, having become one of the most eligible men in the province.

“I remember when Queen Amberley’s name was drawn,” said Mom nostalgically, taking a handful of popcorn. “I knew from the beginning she’d make it.”

“Did you enter the lottery, Mom?” Gerad asked.

“No, sweetie, Mom was too young for the cut-off. But I got your father instead.” She squeezed Dad’s hand, and he turned to her with his gentle smile.

“I think Queen Amberly’s the best queen ever. She’s so beautiful and she’s so smart. I feel like she actually cares about us. I want to be just like her,’ May added with a sigh. I could agree with that at least.

At eight o’clock sharp, the national emblem – an eagle in flight – rose on the screen and the anthem played in the background. Mom and I both automatically hummed along, harmonising with the music, and then looked at each other and laughed. It felt good.

King Clarkson appeared on the screen to give his update on the war. It was hard to focus on his words, knowing what was coming – I knew that the queen and Prince Maxon were as always seated just out of frame – but I made an effort.

“Just this morning, another attack in New Asia rocked our bases. We are confident, however, that with the fresh draft next month will herald a turn of the tide.”

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Aside from my personal fears that Aspen would one day get drafted into the army, I hated the way the military just snatched young men away from their families and shipped them away. We had had more than one widow falling down the castes when she couldn’t make ends meet after her husband was killed in the war.

The Infrastructure Committee announced that they would be commencing work on rebuilding several highways and bridges which hadn’t been touched since the end of the Fourth World War. Important, maybe, but completely irrelevant to us. I could feel Mom twitching with impatience.

Then finally, finally, the Master of Events, Gavril Fadaye, strolled out onto the stage. May clapped her hands with delight, and Mom straightened in her seat.

“Good evening, Illea! And good evening, Your Royal Highnesses.” The camera panned out to show King Clarkson, Queen Amberly, and Prince Maxon all seated on comfortable chairs. The king and prince were in their usual suits, Queen Amberly was in a long silk dress, leaning back in her chair serenely.

“I have to say that I am so honoured to be part of the Selection,” said Gavril, grinning his warm, open grin at the camera. “Lucky me, I get to meet thirty-five beautiful women, and watch one of them become the princess of this nation! A solemn undertaking for our young prince, of course –” The camera moved to Maxon, who was smiling shyly. He wasn’t bad looking or anything, with wavy blond hair, brown eyes and an open expression. But – what a wimp, I thought, amused. I could fake more confidence than that for performances I’d practiced for once.

“– but not without its delights.”

Maxon nodded and laughed. May swooned, I rolled my eyes.

“Your Majesty, how are you tonight?”

“I’m excellent, Gavril.” The king was leaning forward in his chair, the biggest smile I’d seen on his face.

“Excited for the beginning of your son’s journey?”

“Ah yes. I watched some of them being drawn yesterday; all lovely girls.”

“I assume this knowledge hasn’t been shared with the prince?” Gavril turned to Maxon.

“No, no,” laughed Maxon. “I’ll see them at the same time as everyone else.”

As Gavril moved over to the queen I caught sight of Maxon wiping his palms on his trousers as if they were sweaty.

“Your Majesty – any advice for the Selected, who will stand where you once stood yourself?”

Queen Amberly smiled that serene smile of hers. I couldn’t even imagine her being ruffled or upset. “Enjoy your last night as an ordinary girl. Tomorrow, no matter what happens after that, your life will be changed forever. And it’s old advice, but it’s good: be yourself.”

“Thank you for your wise words, my queen. And with that, let us reveal the thirty-five young ladies chosen for the Selection. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating these daughters of Illea!”

The screen changed to a light blue background, preparing for the pictures to appear. A small box remained on the corner to show Maxon’s reactions.

Gavril could be just seen in that box, pulling out a set of cards. The names of the girls whose lives were going to change forever. He cleared his throat in a soft, theatrical gesture.

“Miss Elayna Stoles of Hansport, Three.” A slender, bespectacled girl appeared, her face composed and her posture perfect. Maxon beamed.

“Miss Tuesday Keeper of Waverly, Four.” A serious-faced girl with freckles popped up. I would have guessed her to be around nineteen. Maxon leaned to whisper something to his father.

“Miss Fiona Castley of Paloma, Three.” She was a brunette with smouldering eyes and a half smirk, maybe my age.

I turned to May. “That’s some super shiny lip gloss, right?”

But before she could respond –

“Miss America Singer of Carolina, Five.”

_WHAT?_

My head whipped around so fast it almost hurt my neck. There was my face on the screen, bright red hair tied back with a few strands floating around my face, my smile radiant, my eyes full of hope. I looked like I was in love.

May screamed into my ear, and Mom leaped up, sending the popcorn flying. Gerard tumbled off my knees in sudden excitement, and Dad said, “Well, well.”

I missed what Maxon’s expression was.

The phone rang.

I knew it wouldn’t stop for days.

It was three hours before I could excuse myself, begging off and saying I was exhausted. But there was someone I had to see, to promise my faith to, to assure that I still loved. 

The moment I reached my room, though, I dropped the weary, feet-dragging walk, and ran over to my window. Out, down the gutter, quick and quiet across the lawn, up the tree and into the treehouse. Aspen wasn’t there yet, though I knew he would come, so instead I scraped restlessly at the little puddle of wax that our candle left.

And I waited.

And I waited.

And I waited.

The candle burned itself out.

And I waited.

When it was almost dawn, I went back to my room, my heart numb.


	4. It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long gap between updates! Been studying hard :)

Our house was swarmed with officials in the next days. One person came to confirm all of the details I had listed on my application, from measuring my height with a tape measure to jabbering at me in French to check my fluency, a palace guard came to go over security measures – apparently we didn’t have to wait to get to the palace before having to worry about rebel attacks – another man came to take measurements for my new wardrobe. We got two phone calls from a woman named Silvia, who sounded briskly efficient. She would apparently be in charge of us Selected for the duration of our stay in the palace, and for finding a place for us afterwards.

On Sunday, the evening before I was to leave, Silvia herself paid us a visit. She was exactly as I’d imagined her – dark blonde hair pulled tightly back into a bun, teetering heels, and a quick, broad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m here to explain to you the official rules, America,” she said. We were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table. Her clean cut suit and leather bag looked strange among our peeling paint and worn-down linoleum. I took a sip from my mug of tea. She hadn’t touched hers yet.

“America, from this moment onwards, you are now to follow all of these commands. Firstly, we have dietary supplements for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out three big medicine bottles. “Iron, vitamins, everything to make sure you are in as healthy a shape as possible. Of course your diet at the palace will be far better than anything you have had here,” her eyes flicked around the kitchen and I became acutely conscious of how our tap never stopped dripping and of the damp stains in the wallpaper. “But all the same, these should help out.

“Your doctor said you haven’t been sleeping well?”

“Yeah.” I ran a finger around the top of my mug. “I mean, it’s just with everything that’s going on. It’s been hard to sleep.” My life had turned into a whirlwind overnight. I had hardly had time to think of Aspen, even – though that was probably a good thing. Just the thought of his name made my heart clench painfully.

“Naturally, naturally…” She pulled out a leaf of medication. “Sleeping tablets. Take them half an hour before you go to bed tonight.”

“I – I’m not sure if I –”

“America, please. It is essential that you are well rested.”

I reluctantly reached out and took them from her.

“Now the awkward part.” Silvia leaned forward. “America, I need confirmation that you are a virgin.”

My face burned with embarrassment and humiliation but I controlled my voice. “I know the laws. Of course I’m still a virgin.”

“Excellent.” She beamed at me, and took a sip from her mug of tea at last. “Now, the actual rules…

“You cannot leave the palace without being dismissed by the prince. The prince is the only one who has the authority to allow you to leave – not even the king or queen can force you out.

“There is no set timeline for the Selection. It may be over this time next week. It may stretch into years.”

“ _Years?_ ”

“Don’t worry, dear, that’s unlikely to happen. But should it, you will be required to stay as long as the prince needs to make his choice.”

I took a gulp of tea to cover my fear.

“You are not to approach the prince without invitation unless you are in a group setting. He will seek you out should he wish to.”

I was fine with that part, at least.

“No one expects you to get along with the other girls, but you are not to fight with them or sabotage them in any way. If you are found doing this, the prince may dismiss you instantly.

“Of course your only romantic relationship will be with Prince Maxon. If any evidence is found of you being in a relationship with anyone else from this moment onwards, that is considered treason.”

And treason, of course, was punishable by death. Who knew there could be any sort of benefit to Aspen deserting me? He may well have – unintentionally – saved my life.

“Breaking any of Illea’s laws will result in the punishment tied to that offense. Your new status does not put you above the law.

“You are not to wear any clothes or eat any food that is not specifically provided for you by the palace for security reasons.”

Security reasons?

“On Friday evenings you will be present for the Capital Report broadcast. There may be cameras or photographers in the palace. You will be courteous and allow them to see your lifestyle with the prince.”

Ugh.

“Your family will be compensated monetarily for each week you stay at the palace. Your status now is considered to be that of a Three.”

A Three!

“Should you not win the Selection, you will retain that caste, and an aide will ensure you are settled with new housing and employment afterwards.”

“Should you make it to the top ten girls, you will be considered an Elite. At that point you will be required to learn about the particulars of the life and obligations you will have as a princess. You are not permitted to seek out such information until that time.”

She cleared her throat. “And, should you be selected by Prince Maxon, you will marry him and become the crowned princess of Illea. You will take on all the rights and responsibilities of that role, and one day, of queen. Do you understand and accept this?”

“Yes.” That sounded like the biggest part of all, but really, that wasn’t going to happen. I signed the paper she produced to confirm I had heard all of this. What could I do as a Three? I could teach, I supposed. I could help others learn music.

I showed Silvia to the door. Before she left, though, she turned to me with that fake smile. “Oh, and America… this isn’t an official rule, but it would be unwise of you to ignore it.

“When you are invited to do something with Prince Maxon, you will not refuse. Be it, dinners, outings, kisses – more than kisses – you will not turn him down.”  
I could hardly think of any words. “Excuse me?!”

“It would not behove you to reject the prince under any circumstances. Good evening, America, I’ll see you at the palace tomorrow.” And with a last twinkle, she was gone.

I went back to the kitchen, feeling like I was floating. I stared at the fuchsia stain she’d left on the lip of her mug of mostly undrunk tea.

The law, Illean law, was that you had to wait until marriage. It kept diseases at bay, it kept the castes intact. Illegitimate children were thrown onto the street to become Eights. The parents – if the father was found out, of course – were imprisoned. Even a suspicion of a pregnancy could land you in jail until they were sure you weren’t carrying a child.

And now? Had I not just signed a form saying I’d be punished if I broke Illean law? That I was not above the rules? But the prince, the prince in his magnificent palace, rolling in wealth, was exempt. And could demand of me what he wanted.

I felt like scum.

I wanted Aspen.

I wanted Aspen to come and wrap his arms around me and press kisses against my forehead and tell me it was all going to be okay, that he would take care of me, that nothing was going to happen. Tears welled in my eyes, but I choked them down again. I wasn’t going to cry over him, I wasn’t, no matter how much I wanted him to hold me, to run his fingers through my hair.

I took one of the stupid pills Silvia had given me, and went up to bed. Before I fell asleep, May sneaked in and climbed into my bed. I let myself shed a few tears then. I fell asleep hugging her.


	5. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyaaa sorry for the long absence! I've been busy w school, but don't think I've forgotten this lil thing <3  
> Thank you for the kudos and feedback, it's what keeps me writing :)

The next morning I got dressed in the clothes they’d left me: a white blouse, black trousers, plain black shoes. I pinned a white lily – my province flower – in my hair.

Kenna and James came by to send me off. Kenna was pale and tired and pregnant, but she kissed my cheeks warmly and I promised to write. Kota dropped by too and lurked like a bad smell.

May held my hand all the way to the crowded square from where we were to get our send-offs. Our little family was accompanied by five guards. All the attention from the crowds – it looked as if whole province had come to see me off.

Up on the stage I could see the boundaries between the castes – you could tell by the quality of the clothes that all the castes were standing in clumps. I watched the faces of the other girls. The lower castes were all smiling at me, blowing kisses. I was one of them after all. It was like I was going for all of them.

The mayor was giving a speech but it faded to buzzing in my ears. There he was in the crowd, my eyes moved to him like he was magnetic. As soon as I saw him I wished with all my heart I hadn’t. Because Aspen was standing there with Brenna Butler in front of him, holding her around the waist and smiling.

Had he come up and struck me across the face in front of all these people, it would have hurt less.

Brenna was a Six like him. She was pretty, in a different way to me. I watched as she smiled at him before pushing through the crowd to her family.

Was she the one all along? The one who he’d been saving for? Was she the girl he spent his spare moments with, while I was only the girl who showered him with scraps and kisses once a week?

The stinging feeling subsided to a solid mass of anger in my stomach.

I put my smile back on my face, and waved to the people of my province. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how much he had hurt me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off America Singer, our favourite Daughter of Illea!” The mayor finished with a flourish. And suddenly it was time to say good-bye.

The aide who had been sent to accompany me told me to say my farewells quickly and quietly. Kota hugged me, and told me to mention his art to the prince. I let go of that embrace as fast as I could. Kenna was holding back tears as she kissed my cheeks again. James gave me an awkward hug and patted my head.

I stroked Gerad’s hair. “Try out the piano, okay? That might just be the thing for you.”  
He threw his tiny arms around me, and the way he was trembling made me think he was only now realising what was happening. “Hey, it’s okay, I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

May was smiling at me, her eyes crinkled, her teeth shining. I felt a surge of love for her. “Oh you silly thing, what am I going to do without you?” I pulled her into a hug. She squeezed me as tightly as she could. “You’re gonna be a princess, America, I know it!”

“I’d rather be an Eight if I could have you with me all the time. Come on, I have to say bye to Mum and Dad.”

She bounced to the side, and my parents wrapped their arms around me. “Listen, kitten,” Dad murmured. “No matter what happens, you will always be my princess.”

Tears came to my eyes so fast I could hardly choke them down again. I clung to him like a kid, breathing in the smell of paint and turpentine that always clung to him. He pressed a kiss to my hair, before gently letting me go.

My eyes still felt hot as I turned to Mum.

She caught my chin in her hand, and made me meet her gaze. “Smile. No, properly. Good. Chin up. Make us proud.” She swept me into her arms, and, as fast, let me go, giving me a gentle push towards my aide.

I was ushered towards the shiny white car that awaited me. Even as I ducked my head to climb in, I heard a voice that made me pause.

“Mer! America!”

_Nope. Nope, nope, nope, I am done with his games._

I climbed on into the car, and let my aide slam the door. I caught sight of Aspen’s face in the crowd as the car sped off. I gave him an ironic little wave I knew he couldn’t see through the tinted class. “There’s one person I’m not sorry to leave,” I muttered.

I was the first one to the airport, by which time the giddying effect of the crowd had worn off. I had never flown in my life, and my first time in a plane would be in the company of three other Selected girls. I took slow, deep breaths as we pulled up by the sprawling building. It wouldn’t do to have a panic in front of them.

They took me and my little bag inside. I had a brief impression of a vast, gleaming hall, scattered with travellers before I was ushered into a side room, empty of anything but a row of cushioned white chairs.

“We’ll just wait for the others to arrive, milady,” twittered my aide, “then we’ll be right off to Angeles.” She disappeared out the same door, and I was left alone with my thoughts.

Immediately my mind turned to Aspen, holding another girl’s hand, laughing at another girl’s jokes, kissing her – 

_Nope,_ I told myself sternly. That way led only to tears and I wasn’t going to meet anyone with red eyes and a sniffly nose. Instead I turned to the method I’d been using to calm myself down in the previous few days – running through the names, faces, and castes of the other Selected girls in my head. I’d managed to set them to a nice rhythm that made it feel like thinking through a melody, tapping my fingers idly on the arm of my chair.

_Tuesday Keeper,_ tap tap, _Four. Felicia O’Connor,_ tap pause, _Three._

My little chant was interrupted some ten minutes later when two girls, dressed in white shirts and black pants like mine, walked through the door with their own aides, carrying bags of their own. One of them beamed at me immediately – Marlee Tames, pause tap pause, Four, my chant provided helpfully, warm brown eyes with two dimples and long curly blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. That smile reminded me, with a strong pang, of May. The other girl – Ashley Brouillette, Three I recognised, was smaller and wispy looking with white-blonde hair and almost translucently pale skin. She hung back behind Marlee.

I stood up to shake their hands, plastering a smile on my face. Marlee ignored my proffered hand and moved straight in for a hug. I gave a little gasp of surprise, but returned it with barely a hesitation. Here I was thinking we’d all be at each other’s throats from the get-go, but instead I got this.

“I’m Marlee,” she said with another beaming smile as she pulled away. “This is Ashley.”  
Ashley was much more cool, offering me a smile and a brief handshake. She was a Three, after all, she probably thought we were below her.

“I love your hair so much!” Marlee gushed. “It looks so lively, I wish I’d been born with red hair. Everyone says that redheads have awesome tempers. Is that true?”

Her manner was so vivacious that I could help but smile. “I don’t think so. I mean, I can be pretty bad sometimes, but my sister’s as red as I am and she has the patience of a saint.”

And it was easy as that. We settled into a conversation about what made us mad, and what helped us out of those moods. Marlee liked movies, and I liked them when I got to watch them. We even talked about which actors we found the most attractive, which felt weird given we were off to be Maxon’s little posse of girlfriends. Ashley smiled every so often, gave an occasional titter, but otherwise remained silent. If we asked her a direct question, she’d give only the briefest of answers.

So we kept talking, for nearly half an hour. I found myself liking Marlee more and more. She was eager to offer her opinion but equally eager to hear mine, quick to laugh, always looking for a light side. Maybe I wouldn’t be completely lonely in this competition, and maybe I’d come out the other side with a friend.

We would not have stopped talking except the door swung open, admitting the fourth member of our travelling party. There, walking towards us was a tall brunette. Long legs, slender, her crisp shirtsleeves turned back so she contrived to look casual yet somehow polished at the same time. Manicured fingers flicked her sunglasses to the top of her head, and she glanced around at her surroundings. Her gaze settled on us, almost bored. Her hips swung with every confident stride she took, three-inch heels clacking authoritatively.

This was an entrance intended to intimidate, and I could feel Marlee drawing back a little. Ashley even uttered an almost inaudible, “Oh no.”

She looked like one of those girls who came to a music competition with reams of sheet music under one arm, coolly intimidating. That was okay. I tended to outplay them. 

Though I didn’t want what this girl – _Celeste Newsome, Two_ – wanted, I also had no reason to feel any kind of fear.

“When do we leave?” Her voice was a low drawl, and it occurred to my musical brain that she might not make a bad alto.

“Not sure,” I answered immediately. “We’ve been waiting for you to finally come.”

Ooh, she didn’t like that. Up and down her gaze flicked over me before meeting my eyes again, clearly unimpressed. “Sorry, quite a few people wanted to see me off.” She gave a little shrug and a smile as if nothing else was to be expected.

Great. Hopefully her kind was rare in this bunch, but I didn’t dare hold out much hope.

Thankfully, the door on the opposite side of the room opened at that moment. A man came through, wearing some kind of uniform and a cap with gold braid. “Everyone ready to go?” he said brightly.

“We sure are!” replied Celeste, her smiling increasing in wattage.

Obviously charmed, the captain gave her a little bow. “Well, ladies, if you’ll just follow me, we’ll get you on the plane and off to your new home.”

The flight didn’t turn out to be nearly as bad as I’d feared. It was only scary when we were taking off, as the plane zoomed down the runway. I clutched the armrests of my plush seat as hard as I could, and Marlee, seated opposite me, reached out to touch my hand. I clung to her fingers until we were high in the sky.

The flight was only a few hours long, thankfully. I nibbled at the cheese and crackers they brought around, my gaze fixed on the view outside the window. The clouds made fantastic shapes, and I could see patches of the country below; rambling countryside, cities set in neat rows, vast expanses of blue I guessed were lakes.

Celeste slept through the flight – small mercies, I guess. Ashley was already writing letters home. I tried my best to memorise the little details to tell May about later – the burgundy colour of the seats, how our drinks came in fine crystal glasses and were set on small velvet coasters.

“Thanks for talking to me,” said Marlee suddenly. I looked at her in surprise. She blushed a little, but continued. “I was scared everyone would just be out for themselves, not want to talk to anyone else. But you’ve been really nice. And Ashley,” she added, glancing at the girl across the aisle, who was still absorbed in her writing.

Someone shared my fears. I smiled at her. “Same here, Marlee. I’m glad I found you.”

Landing was even worse than take off but Marlee held my hand again, and there was comfort in her firm grip. We were walked to the terminal by our aides. I shouldered my backpack more securely as we entered the building, only to be stopped in my tracks by ear-shattering screams.

The whole building was crammed with people, jumping, cheering, shouting our names. 

A gold carpet ran out of the place, lined with rope barriers. Guards were stationed at regular intervals along the carpet.

Luckily Celeste was at the front, and she immediately started up her strut again, waving to the crowds and the flashing cameras. I immediately mimicked her – the waves, not the strut – fighting down my urge to slink through as quietly as I could. I’d been the centre of attention for my performances, for competitions, but there had always been a microphone or a violin or a piano there for me to concentrate on. I tilted my head up and offered the brightest smile I could manage.

The crowd was going wild with joy at the sight of the girls who may one day be their queen. People kept shouting my name, and my head turned automatically every time. The lights were blinding; flashes from cameras made me blink. It was hot with so many people crowded together. There were signs emblazoned with PRINCESS AMERICA, GO AMERICA; at the sight of them, I allowed myself to take a few deep, calming breaths. My gaze dropped slightly, and there was a little girl with hair as bright as mine. Her sign said RED-HEADS RULE!!!! She’d painted a little crown onto each of the letters.

I paused despite myself. She wanted my autograph. So did the person beside her. Another girl wanted a picture, a man shook my hand warmly. The calluses on his fingers told me that he was a violin player too, another Five.

In the end I made the other girls wait for a few minutes before I realised they had reached the end of the carpet. I hurried after them immediately, blushing scarlet, to get into the car. Though Celeste sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, I thought of all the cameras that had been capturing our every movement. My family would have seen our entrance on TV. I hoped they would be proud of me.


End file.
